I Expect A Little More Professionalism
by Anna Fay
Summary: With 36 more hours before the interviews with Caesar Flickermann, the attention of the audience had to be kept up with something while they waited to learn more about the tributes, and an escort slapping the mentor of her district at the Tributes' Parade and in front of the cameras seemed like a good enough substitute for real news, so they kept on repeating it over and over again.


Even though her nose had been buried in her timetables and notes for hours and the TV had been muted too, some kind of an evil sixth sense made Effie look up at exactly the right moment to see the footage on air for the third time that day. Or was it the fourth already?

With 36 more hours before the interviews with Caesar Flickermann, the attention of the audience had to be kept up with something while they waited to learn more about the tributes, and an escort slapping the mentor of her district at the Tributes' Parade and in front of the cameras seemed like a good enough substitute for real news, so they kept on repeating it over and over again.

To keep from snapping her favourite highlighter in two, Effie put it down and watched the scene unfolding with her nails digging into the palm of her hands in anger.

They were standing by the sidelines, waiting for their tributes to get back to them with the chariot to them. Things weren't going well, two lumps of actual coal would have looked more attractive than those two, and while Haymitch kept on sipping from his flask indifferently, she couldn't really hide her disappointment. It pained her to see how fake her own smile looked on camera, and how oddly still she held herself.

Then Haymitch offered her the flask.

Naturally, she refused.

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear.

Her whole body went rigid with indignation, and she turned to look at him so slowly that she could almost feel her neck creak.

He grinned back at her and gave her a wink.

She slapped him so hard it made him drop the flask, getting that vile concoction he had the nerve to call a drink all over both of them.

And yet now that she thought of it, it could have been worse.

She didn't like the shoes he had ruined that much anyway.

And while in a previous airing the hosts had tried to read Haymitch's lips to find out what he had told her, the first time in her life and career as Twelve's escort, she had reason to give thanks to all the higher powers for his stupid hair that he could never keep out of his face for long.

He also happened to have the decency not to tell anyone when later that night they replayed it for him in a studio and a reporter asked him about it. He just smiled mischievously, rubbed his cheek and said it was a hundred percent deserved.

 _Hundred and ten,_ Effie thought as she snatched the remote from the other end of the table and turned the TV off.

"Don't you want to see it in slow motion too?" asked Haymitch, making her jump in her chair with the sudden announcement of his presence. "Turn it back on!"

"You turn it back on if you must," she said coldly as she put the remote down, then she picked up the highlighter and continued turning the page pink with irritable jabs.

Unfortunately she didn't have to tell him twice.

He marched up to her, took the remote and perched himself on the edge of the table as he watched the scene being played so slowly it was actually hard to believe it had happened in about three seconds.

"I would never have thought that you could hit that hard," he chuckled as he emptied his glass. "I'm impressed." He raised it once more to slip one of the half-melted ice cubes into his mouth and started crunching on it.

Not wanting to talk about it, especially not with him, Effie turned the page and kept on reading and highlighting with all her might, because after what had happened at the parade, she simply couldn't afford to let him get under her skin again.

No matter how hard he kept on trying.

"Are you still mad at me, princess?" he asked through the second ice cube between his teeth.

"I'm not mad, I'm busy," she replied as calmly as she could.

"Yes, so I can see," he hummed, turning slightly towards her to pick up one of the pages randomly and scanning through it with a frown. "But you know, all work and no play makes Janus a–"

"Haymitch, please," she snapped, looking him in the eye for the first time during their conversation, "I've got all these to read and reply to." She motioned towards the enormous pile of papers in front of her. "Tonight. So _please,_ just leave me alone and let me do my job. Please."

Maybe it was the fact that she had used the word "please" three times within as many sentences, or that she wasn't just shaking on the inside any more, because he held her gaze for a moment longer then gave her a solemn nod in reply. "Okay." He slipped off the table and he even turned TV off for her again.

Then, as he placed the remote on the table again, he put his hand on hers.

"And by the way, I'm sorry you didn't get the job," he told her.

"What?" She looked back at him with a slight frown.

"The job with Seven," he said. "The one your friend Hysteria has just vacated."

"Hestia," she corrected him for the hundredth time, out of habit, even though his comment had caught her terribly off-guard.

He acknowledged the fact that she didn't let him get away with the stupid nickname under any circumstances with a shrug, then went on. "Anyway, don't worry," he said with the kindest and most genuine smile she has ever seen on his face. "You'll get there someday. You're young, you're pretty, and you're disturbingly good at this shit."

It was more than a little strange to hear him speak like that, and not entirely unpleasant. She could have sworn she even blushed a bit. And she could also feel her lips starting to move to reply, but when she couldn't get any sound past them, she just closed them again and swallowed hard.

Seeing her being temporarily out of words must have made his day, because some of his wickedness returned to his smile when he gripped her hand and pushed even further. "They can't refuse you forever," he said, running his thumb over her wrist, and that proved to be the last drop for her.

"They can neither accept me if I don't apply," she whispered despite herself.

It was Haymitch's turn to be in need of a moment before he could talk again. "You didn't apply?" he almost gasped, lowering himself on the chair beside hers unsteadily, and when she shook her head, he gave her almost exactly the same slightly bewildered look Hestia did when Effie had turned down her offer to promote her as her successor as District 7's escort.

"Why?" he groaned.

Fortunately she's had more than two months to beat herself up about her decision and to come up with a reasonable explanation. "Oh, you wouldn't ask why, if you'd heard but half of the stories Hestia has told me about Seven," she tried to laugh it off, because she knew there was no way to change it now. The girl from Ten has probably said yes before Hestia had the chance to finish the question.

"Besides," she went on, seeing that he didn't have the decency to let her think at least for a moment that he would let her off the hook with that, "I refuse to get promoted like that," she stated. "I'll do it the proper way. Through victory."

He sighed so deeply it made the papers rattle on the table.

He thought she was being foolish.

He was also putting two and two together, and realising why he had chosen the worst possible time to show up at the parade without a shave, but with more liquor in his bloodstream than in the bottle, then go on and make things even worse by offering to replace the stick up her butt with something they would both enjoy a lot more.

She just hoped he wouldn't get too carried away and think she had other motives too.

Because she had none, and he had to know that.

He must have known that. After all, they were barely friends. They just happened to have the same difficult job, and it was only natural that sometimes, when things were getting hard, they needed each other to have someone to hold on to. Or someone to fight. And as for the few times they had ended up in each other's bed to celebrate a small victory or to get through the worst of it... well, he had called her a cold-hearted bitch and she him an unfeeling caveman often enough to be more than certain that he knew that the sex was just that: sex.

"So yes," she said, clearing her throat. "From now on I expect a little more professionalism from you."

"Oh, professionalism." He forced himself to snap out of whatever was going on in his head. "Sure. I can try."

No matter how old and lame that joke was, Effie had to purse her lips slightly to deny him the pleasure of seeing her finding it funny. Then she went on and used it against him too. "That's all I'm asking," she told him sweetly, turning her hand around in his so that their palms would meet. "That you try."

It was his turn to try to supress a smile, and he did it by sucking in his lips and exhaling all the air in his lungs out through the nose.

"It's all right," she chuckled. "You don't have to hide how happy you are that you don't have to start another fight with someone new."

"Yes, thank you," he replied, and held her gaze for a long moment before he went on to try to have the final word. "But like I told you; I'm not sure I'm feeling entirely safe in your presence any more." He scratched his face where she had hit him.

"Good." She gave him a firm nod. "Then you'll have something to think about the next time you contemplate displeasing me."

"Oh no, I would never displease you, princess!" He retorted with a barely concealed grin. "If anything, I'm hell-bent on the exact opposite. And I might have mentioned that too before..."

Even though their conversation had made her feel a hundred times better about her decision and its consequences, it did very little to help her appreciate such comments, so Effie pulled her hand away with a very unladylike eyeroll and reached for her cup to take a sip of tea. It was a little stronger than she would have liked, but considering all the work she had to get done, she knew she'd probably have another pot or two.

"So you really have to get through all this," he said, following her gaze and frowning at the stacks of paper.

"Yes," she sighed.

"I better leave you to it then, and get back to my own homework." He pushed himself up from his chair.

"Anything interesting so far?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Just the usual stuff." He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. "The girl from Eleven's strong as an ox, both kids from Four are pretty _and_ quick on their feet, and there's yet another miniature evil genius from Three. And the boy from Two is the cousin of Augustus Braun."

"Wonderful," she groaned, closing her eyes for a moment, because if those were the bad news one could get only from the first reports on the tributes, she feared to think of what other surprises would be waiting for them later on along the road.

"Indeed," he agreed and touched her shoulder. "So if you finish any time before breakfast and would like to learn more, you are welcome to join me," he offered with a smile that made Effie wonder how much she would have missed working with him if she had decided to leave.

But before she could have really given thought to that matter, he cupped her face in his free hand, bent down and kissed her just the way she liked, starting gently then adding just a bit of teeth to it right before he pulled away.

"Thank you," he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead, then caressing her face.

She mumbled something vaguely resembling "you're welcome", then watched him walk back to his room, hoping that she'd be able to pull herself together enough to get ready with her letters some time before 3 a.m. so that she'd have at least a few hours left to go over and over the reports with him. Even if she felt like she'd fall asleep as soon as her head touched his shoulder.

* * *

 _FYI, three weeks ago I didn't even like The Hunger Games that much, but look at me now..._

 _Anyway, thanks **Sam** for the beta reading, and I still love reviews! :)_


End file.
